Dad
by Ash Gray Kitsune
Summary: A year of being alone hadn't helped Dante come to terms with his brother's death...but...maybe a little kinship was all he needed.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Dad**

**Author: Ash Gray Kitsune**

**Pairings: NeroxKyrie, DantexDOC**

**Warnings: Dante's mouth, Nero's mouth, Lady's mouth, TW child abuse/kidnapping, and demon guts. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry, nor do I make any profit off of it.**

**A/N: There is one part that is being cut out of this story due to the graphic nature, but it is still available for viewing at AFF, under my name Ash_Gray_Kitsune. It is in regard to child abuse, so please heed the warnings.**

Not for the first time, Dante wondered if the human world was really Hell in disguise. Here he was, perched in a dead tree, soaked to the bone and bleeding, and somewhere off to the west, some jackass was summoning a goddamn portal. Add the eerie black clouds above, the sleet lancing down, and a cruel wind blowing, and he couldn't find a better allegory for the bowels of Lucifer's domain. Plus, his fucking head still hurt from the hangover this morning...though that pain was nothing compared to the empty shell that was his heart.

_I miss you, Verg._

"Goddamn fucking dumbass summoners..." He muttered, the cursing alleviating some of his tension as he fished around fruitlessly for another Vital Star, knowing that he was out, but checking again anyway. At least trying to wiggle numb fingers into the buttoned pockets inside his duster was a distraction; demonic half-blood he might be, but Dante was still human enough to get cold. He wouldn't get sick, no, but he also wasn't getting warm anytime soon. With a tired sigh, he gave up the search and turned his gray-blue eyes to the horizon, hissing a little as he caught the glimmer of a large fire. It glittered red and yellow, a simple bonfire...

So, the bastard was human? Joy, that was another complication. He had, after all, vowed to never slaughter a human being...and normal jails didn't hold dudes who made a habit of making lower-level demons their bitches well at all. Well, with any luck, he'd have a reason to leave the fucker with no arms, no legs, and his eye sockets gouged out. For now, though, he swung out of the blackened tree and landed a little harshly on the ground, thankful that there wasn't a soul around. At least he didn't have to show off tonight...

* * *

In less time than it had taken to down his hordes of rotting corpses and demonic creations, the man Dante'd been sent to hunt was cowering at his feet, bound, gagged, and tied to a particularly large log while the demon hunter rooted through the camp, taking a careful inventory of everything that had been stolen by the stupid fucker. As he did so, though, he stayed carefully away from the tainted stone chest that had served as the man's altar, eyes wary at the amount of dried blood coating its surface.

There was something inherently wrong with the slab of marble on top, though he couldn't put a finger on exactly why it bothered him so. That was, at least, until the rain and ice had stopped, and his sense of smell had returned with a vengeance. He hissed and gagged a little at the reek of both demonic blood...and human. Very, very young human. Gray eyes tinged with red as he strode over to the quivering, stinking wretch, and Dante jerked him upright, yanking the gag down.

"What the unholy FUCK were you doing here?!" He snarled, feeling an urge to Trigger almost crawl over his skin. "You've been fucking killing kids, you sick fuck!" The summoner wheezed out a gasp, but nothing else, his eyes as full of fear as any of his other hunts...though there was a touch of petty delight that he'd gotten under the half-demon's skin so abruptly. Dante forced back the urge to snap the fucker's neck, and shook him, hard. Enough that it dislocated one of the bastard's shoulders, and as he howled in agony, he was tossed unceremoniously back on the ground as the half-demon stalked away, hands clenched so tightly that he was drawing blood.

_Goddamn motherfucking cuntwhistle..._

He snarled and whipped out both Ebony and Ivory, shooting down a few of the remaining demon birds to try and ease his temper...when a high, weak cry startled him out of his rage. Turning, Dante stared around the camp, entirely nonplussed by what sounded like...

_A baby? But, there's no kid here..._when his attention was caught by the fat fuck responsible for all of this in the first place. Wiggling his bulk around, the summoner was heading towards the altar, grimacing when another wail, this one louder and angrier, split the air.

Dante crossed over the dying remains of the fire and flung the slab off the chest, shoving aside the blankets and sheets swathing the youngster before sitting back with a swift intake of breath. Silver hair, bloodied presumably from the afterbirth, and cornflower blue eyes blinked up at him, the naked child barely more than a few hours old. His umbilical cord wasn't even cut properly...he looked as though he'd been taken directly from his mother's womb, and shoved here like so much filler. Gently, carefully, Dante reached down and wrapped the child up, cradling him in one large hand as he smoothed back those spiky silver locks.

There was a shock as his fingers touched the boy's bare skin, and for a moment, Dante closed his eyes and took a deep, slightly shaky sniff. He smelled of new life and old blood, of demonic power dormant...and of kinship. He smelled of a human mother...and Dante. A fierce hold clamped down on his senses, and for a moment that spanned eternity, he stared down at his son, wonder warring with disbelief. Behind him, a soft, vicious cackle filled the air.

"He's your spawn, oh hunter of demons. His slut of a mother couldn't bear the thought of a babe with your blood marring his humanity, and so she tossed him at me this morning, when I so graciously offered to...make use of him-ANGH!"

Dante didn't kill humans, no. He protected them, hunted for them, and made sure that the hordes of Hell stayed clear the fuck away from anyone of human descent.

But that didn't mean that he didn't punish the arrogant fuckers who thought themselves above both humans and demons. As he cleaned and sheathed his broad knife, one-handed, he cradled his boy to his chest. The summoner wouldn't die from his newest wound, since all the demon-hunter had done was slice off his tongue. But that wasn't any of Dante's concern. Not now. No, he only had eyes for the tiny child nestled in his arms, lulled to sleep by a tone-deaf, half-remembered song.

_Betcha don't even have a name yet...how about..._

"Nero."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dad**

"...yeah, he's still out there. Big bonfire, mostly burnt to embers. I have the most priceless of what he jacked, but I could only carry so much...Yeah, just meet me at the shop when you get done out there. Oh, and I had to cut his tongue out; he kept summoning shit. So, send the hospital bill to the mental ward...What? It was leave it in, and deal with him doing that shit for the rest of his life...or fix the problem. I fixed it. Yeah, yeah, I know the chief's gonna bring this down on my ass...Thanks, Lady. Just ask Morrison for the payment."

Dante set the phone gently on its cradle and turned back to the little bundle wiggling on his desktop. The aging heater just outside this room was pumping out musty-smelling, but warm air, and he'd divested himself of his duster and jeans a bit ago, leaving them to steam next to the vent, and his shirt was drying from the staircase's skeletal frame. He was still pretty bloody, despite the rain's cleansing, and so he delicately unwrapped the babe, a tired smile lighting his features as a tiny fist bopped his fingers.

"You're a feisty little guy...probably gonna need that for later, though, kiddo." He freed the last of the sheet off of the baby's-his son's- lower limbs and for a moment, blinked. Now, Dante didn't have a lot of experience with babies, mostly enough to tell a girl from a boy, and that was a little sketchy even. So, when he was presented with a nude, very dirty child, he was at odds as to what to do next...until Nero took care of that for him. With a scrunch of his nose and lips, the infant promptly pissed on his father's chest, making Dante stare down at himself in mute horror for a moment, before the demon hunter's lips split in a reluctant grin, and rusty laughter filled the shop.

"Oh, god, if there was any doubt you weren't mine..." He gasped out, rubbing tears of relief from his eyes before he scooped up the child and headed into his small back bathroom, still shaking with laughter. "Alright, kiddo, alright, I'll clean ya up." Thankfully, he was used to sponge-bathing; Morrison still hadn't gotten a plumber in to fix his shower and the upstairs bathroom, so he stole a few of the clean washcloths Lady had left behind, and set to making them both look presentable. He didn't really have any way to diaper the kid, but he figured an old washcloth and a few safety pins would work for the time being, so after washing off all the blood and tarry black excrement, he set to work.

* * *

An hour or so later, Nero was nestled in the crook of his father's arm and Dante was snuggled into his couch-bed, blankets wrapped around both of them as he watched an old monster movie. The bathroom was a mess, and his kitchen was even worse; he'd managed to find something the baby could eat, but it had ended up in spit-up all down his back, so after washing up again, he elected to down a beer and call it a night.

As his eyelids drooped a little, he focused on the small, fuzzy cap of white hair poking up from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, and took another sniff, something that he couldn't quite help himself with. He knew that most demons reacted best to scent; it seemed that he was no different, and the natural scent his child gave off told him more, far more, than any agent or computer could have. He could read little Nero's mood by breathing in that essence, and where he'd been, what had happened to him...how healthy he was. How sick he was. It was...frightening.

No, it was fucking terrifying. Dante had never, ever, ever been so responsible for another life. Not like this. Sure, he'd saved old ladies and young girls, protected whole populations. But this...he would be held accountable for everything in Nero's life, no matter the boy's age. And yet...in spite of the fear, he found that he could no more thrust Nero away than end his own life. The call of blood to blood was far too strong, for one thing, and for another...he was just too goddamn adorable.

Now, he'd heard horror stories from Lady about how whiny and picky babies were, and he was sure that his little boy would be the same, eventually. But how could someone look at that little fluff of silver and those big baby blue eyes and that shy little smile, and say 'I'm going to use you as a sacrifice'? Certainly not Dante. No...there would be crying for hours on end, and he'd probably fuck up by mixing up the bottles of milk with beer once or twice, and there would be no doubt as to where Nero would learn all of his bad words from, and school would be a goddamn nightmare...

But here, in his little nest of blankets and pillows, and his baby boy tucked next to his own heart, Dante could, for the first time in ten years, rest easy. His guns were still within reach, and Rebellion was propped against the couch's back, but for the first time since his brother's death, he didn't think he was going to be up all night tossing and turning, dreading the return to dreams...dreading seeing his own face in the mirror. His last thoughts of the night, unpredictably, weren't even of his brother, as much as Dante missed him. No...they were of the lost woman who'd given up their son.

_Why didn't she come to me? I'd have made sure she was taken care of...and when he was born, if she wanted freedom from being a parent, I'd have gladly taken him. But...maybe she couldn't. Maybe she loved him enough to try and protect him...since it was likely her blood I wiped off. Maybe...maybe..._

Maybe she's still alive. With that last, not so comforting wish, he let sleep take him away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dad**

Lady and Morrison both stared down at the infant sleeping in the little oval basin he'd swathed in blankets, their expressions eerily the same; blank as a wall. Dante felt a twinge of worry for a moment, until Lady heaved a sigh and proceeded to call him a few dozen scathing insults, topping it all with her familiar 'asshole', and Morrison started interrogating him as to the baby's mother. Neither of them were surprised when he said he didn't know; Lady could read him better, and he saw her lips tighten when he'd mentioned that Nero had been caked in old blood. He sat back in his chair now, one hand rocking the basin from side to side gently.

"I'm serious, guys. I'm keeping him; totally aside from the fact that he is actually my son, I wouldn't let some baby die...not like that." He smiled, just a little, up at his two closest, and really, only friends, and relaxed as they both nodded.

"We know you wouldn't, Dante. But...this is going to be a big change for you. You won't be able to do any hunting, you know; not until the baby is older." The younger man nodded, quiet, and gray eyes lit on his child's restful face.

"I can do research, and offer up papers for publishing. Gods know I know more about Devil Arms than anyone else alive now, and with the revenue from those, I'll get this place fixed up."

"I'll help you, man."

"I'll help too." He blinked, a little surprised to hear the vehemence in Lady's voice, and nodded a little warily.

"I appreciate it. And before you so much as insult me with it, I've already changed three diapers today. There is nothing demons or mortal man can do to possibly disgust me now." Never mind the fact that he'd routinely come home covered in guts and gore, and probably the same effluent mess that had soaked his son's washrag diapers this morning, but it was just...it was so goddamn sticky. And all nasty black. Ick.

"Speaking of which, we need to go shopping. I barely made do with breakfast for him this morning, and lunch is coming up soon. So, who's up for hitting downtown?" Lady's cheer made him laugh as he picked up his son and the three of them stepped out the door. A short drive, and five hundred and seventy-two dollars later, Nero was happily sucking down formula from a fresh bottle in the food court while Dante somehow managed to pick up pizza slices with just his lips, teeth, and tongue. After his fourth slice, Lady had dismissed herself, saying that she couldn't watch a guy give his pizza oral sex any longer, sending Dante into hysterics until he startled Nero.

Knocking the bottle to the floor, the demon hunter was treated to the very first scream from his infant son, and ears ringing, he found the bottle, wiped it off, and had it in the boy's mouth in record time, while Morrison was laughing so hard he fell off his damn chair. Eventually, though, they did have to stuff everything in the convertible, and Morrison drove them home, helping Dante fill his shop up before the agent left for the night. That night, Dante gave his son a proper birthday, and half his old bedroom became the boy's. They both slept like logs till morning.

* * *

A few days later, Dante had shooed both his friends away and sat down on the floor of his bedroom with one tiny infant and several toys, one of which was currently locked in Nero's death grip, one ear being chewed on as his father deftly cleaned him up once more, this time from spit up and diarrhea. The demon-hunter himself was stripped down to his leather pants, and cooed a little to his baby boy as he finished tossing the soiled diaper in the trash and set to redressing his son, making sure nothing was too tight around his itty-bitty legs or arms, and especially not his head.

In fact, he'd been intensely protective of his little man all day long, allowing Morrison and Lady a scant few minutes to cradle him before Dante claimed him again, the demon on the other side of his DNA possessive and none too pleased with their casual disregard for his need to keep the baby close. The human in him understood, but still...it was a little insulting. He might have been a fuck-up, but he wasn't a total waste of space. He might not know everything about child-rearing, but a little judicious gossiping and showing off to the neighborhood slum mothers had earned him a wealth of knowledge at his fingertips.

And besides, he thought as he smiled and pressed little kisses to the cooing baby's feet, at least he was being affectionate and caring, unlike a great many fathers in this day and age. And he didn't scoff at the little things he had to do; most of it was simply a change in his normal routine, and though even under pain of torture he wouldn't admit it, the dinner he'd had tonight had been pretty damn good, even if it wasn't pizza. And feeling Nero's content as he was being fed...that made up for all the discomfort when they were buying baby clothes and toys and a crib that could turn into a full-sized bed when he grew up.

He hadn't imagined that so many people would be so...cruel about a single father carrying around a newborn. He knew that part of it was his heritage, and presumably Nero's. Normal humans didn't walk around with silver hair and dressed in a red duster with two guns strapped to the back, and they didn't hiss at strangers when said strangers asked whose baby he was carrying, but still...it was unnerving, and frankly, it was depressing. But that was to be expected, he supposed...besides. His kid was a bundle of occasional crying and solemn stares, and a lot of giggling laughter. He'd have to be a fool to let a bunch of assholes get in between them.

He kept playing with the baby while the thoughts from the last week or so roamed his head, occasionally laughing as Nero kicked up, grinning when little fingers tugged at his large, calloused ones. The baby carrier he'd 'bad-assified' with a few strips of black and blue leather got him a lot of flak, and too often in the last week, he had police officers follow him, sure that he was up to no good, because what tough guy carried a baby around? One with a damned decent agenda, that's who. _Fucking assholes; suck on donuts by day, Twinkies by night. And all the damn time, they rag on me for being a lazy fuck. I wish I dared to go 'Su-weeeeeee pigpigpigpig' again..._

But that was on Morrison's 'Don't you fucking dare' list, and with Lady to back him, Dante didn't feel like getting something blown through him. Again. As Nero played a light tug-of-war with Dante, the demon hunter felt a dark smirk touch his eyes. Well, at least the summoner was taken care of. The whole human sacrifice/baby sacrifice bit had sealed his sorry fate, and Dante had left Nero with Lady for the hour it had taken to kill the fucker, standing as a witness to his death. It'd given him no end of pleasure to give the sorry fucker the finger as he croaked it, and knowing that Nero was, at least, safe from him soothed his conscience, tiny as it was. At least he knew he wasn't going to Hell; he'd been there already, and it had spat him out.

At last, though, Nero's little eyelids were drooping, and Dante was feeling pretty worn out himself. So he picked the baby up and settled him in his crib, turning his mobile on before Dante sank into his own bed and pulled the crib over the ragged rug, still a little nervy about having Nero so far away from him. He had to smile, though; less than a week, and he was smitten. He supposed there was something to be said for love after all...As he drifted off into slumber, he felt a tiny hand wrap around his index finger, and for the first time in his life, Dante allowed himself the freedom to take comfort in that tiny gesture.

"Good night, little buddy..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Dad**

Dante sighed as he trudged through the dripping rain, Rebellion heavy and blood-caked on his back, Ebony and Ivory out and cocked, his black pistol resting on one shoulder. He _hated_ Hell on a good day...and today wasn't even close. _Actually, I hate all nine circles of Hell, and each little niche I've been stuck in over the years. Yup. Unbridled hate riiiiiiight here, folks._

But he needed the payoff this job promised, if he ever wanted to get Nero enrolled in school next year. Sure, he could have home-schooled him, just as he'd done the last five years, but the boy was just too damned smart. Dante freely admitted that while he was an expert on demonology, demonic archeology, and Devil Arms, he was hardly Master's material. He simply just didn't see any point in pursuing a degree in something when half the time, all that kept him alive was his reflexes, not his intelligence.

But Nero wasn't Dante, and already the precocious brat had outsmarted his father in just about everything, from basic math skills to complex reading, and his grammar by far surpassed his old man. The only areas, in fact, that Dante still schooled him in were purely physical; gymnastics, parkour, swordsmanship, and using his demonic senses. He had all the promise that Dante and his twin had had at that age, he just needed time, practice, and some serious muscle growth on that skinny ass frame of his. Fat baby, twig kid. But then again, his metabolism _ was_ twice what it had been as a baby...

Besides, Nero wanted to be like the other kids in the neighborhood, and so Dante had dutifully started searching out schools...croaking when the _cheapest _East Side kindergarten was _ two grand_. For a fuckin' _ year_ . After gaping like a fish for about an hour, he'd cursed a blue streak so loudly that Nero had poked his head through the stairs in admiration, even going so far as to give his father high marks for ingenuity.

That, at least, had broken the black mood, and he'd burst into laughter, shutting the laptop and making his way up the stairs to wrestle with his mini-delinquent. God, he loved that kid. Nero made every bad thing in life a hundred times better, usually by snarking about it, and every night, his father sent up a silent prayer of thanks to his mother, and occasionally to his father, as distant a ghost as Sparda might be. And each morning, he was rewarded with a pair of bright blue eyes and shaggy white-silver hair, bouncing on his gut.

Even out of breath, he would grin and growl and they'd wrestle for a bit, until the kid would claim victory and clamber up to Dante's shoulders as the older man walked downstairs to breakfast and the inevitable pile of laundry that neither of them claimed and both blamed each other for. As the day wore on, there'd be homework and sword fighting, naptime and monster movies, and a visit or two to the little green grocer or the pizzeria down the street.

And as night fell, they'd go up to the roof, and learn astronomy together, and as Nero drifted off, Dante would ramble about Eva and Sparda, about Vergil...his thoughts shifted as he lazily shot down a Marionette. He missed his kid, and hoped that he'd be able to kill this Mundus asshole before another day passed. He was missing the all-you-can-eat pizza day at Zatolli's!

Ah, well, at least the kid was in good hands; Lady, Morrison, and twenty of Morrison's pet punks were snarfing pie at Dante's expense while they all watched over Nero. It was a small price to pay for near-total security; each of the punks respected and had worked with the demon-hunter before this, and most of them had younger siblings not too much older than Nero, so their instincts were set to 'protect'. So, the demon-hunter strolled on through Hell, and put his worries away. As he set his sights on his target, Dante's eyes narrowed, taking in the tall, black-spired castle.

_Smug bastard. Hope that woman Trish stands by her word._

* * *

After one fucking long ass battle, and an even longer flight away to the safety of the plain, Dante landed on the rough, unbroken ground and set the woman...demon...whatever the fuck she was on a rise of clean granite, sagging from his Trigger's release to the earth below her, and panted._Good fucking God...I don't ever wanna fucking fight that asshole again. If I'da known I was gonna have to save the whole fucking world, I'da demanded a bigger fucking paycheck. Bitch better be ready to pay up when she comes to; like hell I'm letting Lady take all the cash from this one. _He did have a few artifacts he'd claimed along the way, but they'd only cover a few months, at best.

"Fuck...Bitch, you better wake up. My kid's gonna want to meet ya this time around..." He muttered, casting a portal spell before he heaved her up again and stumbled back to the human world, collapsing on the rooftop of the shop. He had just enough energy to close the portal, and finally let his exhaustion creep over his senses as he rolled weakly onto his back. Lady'd been watching, he knew that...so when familiar boots crossed his vision, he gave in and slept.

* * *

"Daaaaaad...Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad...C'mon, Dad!" Nero's voice, a little subdued, slithered through the dark shadows clouding his mind, and with a groan, Dante slapped a hand over his face and narrowed his eyes to the sudden flare of light from his bedside lamp.

"Mmph...wher'm I?" He grumbled, yanking a pillow over his face as he noted the thick swathing of bandages covering his chest and abdomen. _Wha...? Oh. The heart-wound. Right. _ He was aware, too, of the thick scent of fear hovering in the room, most of it emanating from the slender boy perched on the side of his bed, his snark tone in no way concealing his worry.

"In your ugly ass nest, where else? Lady's still pissed at you, by the way..." That got a weak chuckle from the man, and as the other voices in the room drifted away into the hallway, that bravado disappeared as a little face burrowed into his neck, and thin arms latched onto his shoulders. "Dad..." Came the soft sob, and Dante rolled to catch his kid in a tight squeeze, big hands petting down slightly grungy silver hair as Nero cried into his father's shoulder. _ Musta been up all night...I'm so sorry I worried you, kiddo_

"Nero..." He sighed out, and curled around his smaller body, humming quietly as he felt the fog of painkillers slowly lift from his vision and senses. Lady was downstairs...and so was Trish. But it seemed as though the demoness wasn't awake yet, so he filed that away for later, and moved on to Morrison...who was heading out the door, if what he was hearing sounded right. Good...He enjoyed the older man's company, but for tonight, it was best that it was just the four of them. There would be a lot of explaining to do..."It's gonna be okay, buddy..."

"What if you don't come home next time?! What if it _isn't_ going to be okay?!" Dante glanced down into hot blue eyes, rimmed with tears, and felt his heart contract. _ Oh gods...he's right. What if I don't come back from a mission? What if I leave him all alone...?_

"I...I don't know what to tell you, kiddo. I know that platitudes are for politicians, so...I guess...We'll have had the time we were given, bud. And that'll have to be enough. Even demons die, Nero...Even demons die."


	5. Chapter 5

**Dad**

Nero wondered, seriously, if it was possible for a half-blood to have a heart attack from sheer stress. If so, his father was well on the way to giving himself one as he watched Dante _bustle around the office. _Dante did not bustle. Dante did not fucking _hurry. _Dante didn't even look up from the magazine he'd fallen asleep on unless Nero jumped on his head. And got thrown across the room. Nero was perched on the giant old desk, drumming his heels lightly on the front side, and waited patiently for Lady to arrive. Okay, so it _was_ his first day of school, and he supposed that his dad was probably worried sick that something would happen...

"Dad, you're going to sweep a hole in the floor."

"Will not."

"Will to."

"Will not."

"Will to."

"The hell are you doing, dumbass?" Her familiar voice cut through both Nero's answer and Dante's frantic cleaning, and as the six-year-old launched off the desk, his father blinked and a warm grin touched his face as he set the broom aside to pace over to them.

"Lady!"

"Well, I was cleaning. What's it look like?" She gave him a scathing glare as she scooped the boy up.

"Looks like a dumbass trying to pick up his nest. And failing. Alright, kiddo, you ready to go?" Nero pointed to where his new backpack and lunch box lay on the desk, and she flashed a grin at him. "Good. Dante, get your shit together and let's get out of here. Education's waiting!" At Dante's groan, she swiped at him playfully, and the demon-hunter danced out of the way, picking up both lunchbox and pack as he retaliated with a stuck-out tongue and the finger.

"C'mon, guys!" Nero wiggled out of Lady's hold and grabbed for his things, then latched onto his father's hand, pulling the older man towards the door. "C'mon!"

* * *

The walk to Harrington Elementary was long, but quiet, and for a change, Dante enjoyed the early morning, his earlier panic notwithstanding. Lady and Nero were talking about what the little boy could expect, and Dante watched him out of the corner of his eye, a smile hovering on his lips. He looked sharp in new blue jeans and sneakers, and his favorite blue hoodie was zipped up against the cool morning fog, the hood bouncing as he hopped along, taking two, three footsteps to each one of his father's. It was cute, and he made sure that he slowed his steps when Nero struggled to keep up. Lady was relaxed and smiling down at her adopted nephew, and when he caught her mismatched eyes, he had to grin a little.

She made a face at him, but seemed to understand. _It's gonna be hard for both of us. She's used to having him come rocketing down the stairs, and I'm used to...everything. But...it'll be good for him. It'll be good to see him with friends, even if I wanna keep him all to myself. He deserves that. _He reached over with his free hand and ruffled the boy's hair, earning himself a glare and grumble and laughing all the while.

"Mmph, Daaaaaaaaad!"

"Humor me, I'm gonna be lonely at the shop."

"You're gonna pass out like you always do. Or you're gonna make Lady mad again and _I _have to clean it up._"_

"I will not!"

"Will to!"

"Will not, ya mini-alcoholic."

"And who gave me a bottle full of alcohol?"

"...point taken." As Nero made a face up at him, he stretched his right arm up, and the sleeve fell, treating Dante to the sight of a strange dark spot on his son's forearm, just around his elbow. Nero caught his line of sight, and swiftly tore his hand out of his father's, shoving the sleeve down and staring now at the ground. Lady hadn't noticed, but Dante rested a hand on his boy's head for a moment, then offered that hand again in mute apology, his eyes concerned now. Catching his son's eyes, he nodded slightly towards the arm in question, and mouthed 'later' to him. In spite of Lady's constant presence, there were just some things that both of them would rather were kept from her. Not that they didn't trust her, (well, Dante didn't when she got drunk) but it was easier to talk about demonic history without someone saying "Just kill 'em."

"...Trish was gonna take me shopping later, but I told her you were broke again..." Dante snapped out of his revelry and glared at her as the school drew into sight.

"Damn straight I'm broke. And at least I got to see where my money went this time, not that you care..." He grumbled out. giving Nero's hand a squeeze to take the sting out of the words. He felt very, very apprehensive now; the school seemed to tower above the trio, and not for the first time, he wondered if this was really a good idea...but there were a few of the older kids that lived in their neighborhood waiting by the gate, and one of them waved to the little silver-haired boy, who in turn burst into all grins. He stopped on the sidewalk and knelt down to Nero's height, gray-blue eyes shadowed. "So, uh...I suck at this sort of thing...but...have a good day, okay? If anything happens, make sure they call me. Anything at all. If someone bullies you..."

"Dad." Thin arms slipped around his neck, and Dante burrowed his face into Nero's hug, taking a deep breath of his scent. "I'll be okay. Just don't stalk the gates, okay? I want to have the principal like me, okay?" He had to laugh, softly, and drew back, smiling now.

"Okay. Alright. So...I love you. All that sentimental crap." Nero beamed and hugged him again, darting off as the bell started to ring.

"I love you too, Dad!"

* * *

Later that night, after the successful conclusion of Nero's First Day, all with caps, Dante had poured himself a glass of brandy and a tall glass of milk for the kid, and sat him down on the floor of his own bedroom, having moved Nero over to the second room a few years ago.

"Alright, kiddo. What's up with the arm? I didn't see that a week ago when we went swimming." Nero covered it with his left hand, frowning so fiercely that it was almost comical..."Hiding it won't work, bud. You know that."

"It scares me." There, that was something at least.

"I know. Here. Can I see it?" Rather than grab at Nero (He'd learned from Lady; don't do it. At all.), he held out his hand, eyes solemn. Slowly, carefully, his boy put his small hand in his father's, and gently, Dante pulled the sleeve up. There it was; soft brown scales, limned in translucent blue. Definitely demonic, and probably an example of his growth as a quarter-blood.

"What is it?" There was so much fear in his voice that the demon-hunter pulled his kid into his arms and snuggled him, feeling off-kilter and more than a little angry at himself.

"I don't know, bud...but I'm gonna find out." _I promise..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Dad**

Nero yawned in the chilly morning air as he took out the trash, and waved to his equally sleepy father just inside the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at the bacon and eggs. One thing that his father had learned in ten years of raising a son was that Nero's body demanded more than pizza all day, everyday, and the demon-hunter's cooking prowess had grown far more than even Dante had believed. A large plate heaping with pancakes was shoved into Nero's hands as he tramped back inside, and the boy promptly rolled one up and shoved it into his mouth, not even wincing when a wooden spoon smacked the back of his head.

"Chew your fucking food, you animal." Dante growled, though there was a playful undertone to the older man's voice as he plated up the eggs and pork, and Nero was content to chow down as the second plate was added to the pancakes and big glass of milk. He was allergic to oranges (same as his dad), so they always had a few jugs of milk on hand as substitute. Finally, Nero was getting a little meat on his bones, though he was still wiry and slender. And short for his age, too; Dante suspected it had more to do with Nero's deep love of Thai food than his own inadequacies as a parent. Nonetheless, his kid was bright, strong, and generally pretty affable; the only time he ever grew moody, in fact, was when his scales grew.

And that, to Nero's dismay, was something that wasn't going to go away. Ever. After the second scale appeared, Dante had managed to convince the kid to visit a doctor friend of his, someone who knew a great deal about demonic bloodlines and their effects on human DNA. That someone had, in turn, been very understanding of Nero's plight, and after a few dozen blood tests and examinations, concluded that while he himself didn't know the exact genome responsible for the transformation, it did indeed come from the bloodline of Sparda. The doctor had been very upbeat as he gave Nero all of his educated guess as to what might happen in the future; the scales might cover his whole body, they might stop at his arm...they might even go away as he grew older. But he did stress that while Nero ought to keep it covered to protect them from scarring too much, they were nothing to be ashamed of.

"You are your grandfather's blood, child, and nothing in this world or the next can or will change that. But you have his courage, and his love in you, and with your father's help, I think that you will prove to be a greater warrior than the three that proceeded you. And it all starts, I feel, with your arm. You are a true child of both worlds; it is a harsh burden, but I believe that one day, you will have the strength to carry that burden fully. Until then, know that your father will do so for you." The visit had left both Dante and Nero more than a little nonplussed, but after a few days of talking out strategies, they managed to agree on one that worked for them both. So for the time being, Nero kept the scales neatly bandaged and hidden, protecting them from being bruised or cut. They were, perhaps, more delicate than his own skin, and every night, he'd come to Dante's room and they'd sit and watch TV while the older man cleaned each brownish-black oval, taking care to never press too hard.

So far, no one at school even knew he had them; he simply told the teachers that it was a skin infection from when he was a baby, something that only went away with a lot of antibiotics. They always asked if he needed his pills at school...he was just glad that his old man had agreed, and even had a pill bottle or four stashed in his coat with dyed jelly beans in them. Besides, it wasn't like he showered at school anyway; he'd already had one of the bigger bullies try and fox him into the showers to show him the 'Rope a Dope' the year before, and discovered that learning parkour at the hands of a guy who did it for fun made climbing into the rafters hilarious, if likely to get him suspended. He grinned a little at his record, and still had the resist the urge to salute his father whenever he actually did get caught.

He wasn't so much a class clown as he was...a mental liberator. Yeah, he liked that. Free all the minds, that sort of crap. He seriously did do that, though, from snarking back to the teachers in his homeroom to wowing the science professor with his specially rigged remote-control volcano. That had given him both a week's suspension and a straight A, though, so Dante had simply told the principal to fuck off and asked Nero if he could replicate it to use on Lady...He chuckled softly to himself, earning a raised eyebrow from his father, and started in on the eggs.

"Sorry, I was thinking about all the pranks I pulled this year." Dante sighed and took a quiet bite from his own omelet before answering.

"Uh huh. I'm still in trouble from the last one, buddy. Though, I'll admit, I never once thought of a newt in the water pitcher your English teacher keeps on his desk."

"Came from a movie Lady took me to at the old opera house. You would have liked it, though you might have punched the screen with the way the little girl's parents acted."

"Self-rightous assholes with an addiction to TV dinners? Yeah, I've seen _Matilda_ before. It's a good one, I agree. So, what else is your devious little demonic mind planning on destroying, defacing, or defenestrating next?" Nero stuck out his tongue and started tearing into the bacon.

"I'm not going to chuck anything out a window, Dad. C'mon now."

"That's not nearly as comforting as you meant it to sound."

"Seriously, no plans here. I don't need to get suspended again, and spend my holiday with everyone glaring at me again." His father chuckled a little, and setting the empty plate in the sink, leaned down and ruffled Nero's hair a little.

"Alright then. Hurry up and finish eating while I get the car warmed up and ready out front. We're leaving in ten." With that, Dante threw on his long winter coat and stepped out back, leaving Nero to finish off his milk and bacon, and race upstairs to throw everything into his backpack. He didn't take a lunch anymore, partly because his dad would bring him a freshly cooked one every day unless he was out on a mission, and admittedly, Nero was spoiled on those good meals; he'd sooner starve than eat the school's food.

Besides, they never gave him enough, and Dante always had the right amount. So, he gathered up books, homework, and notebooks, and dug his mp3 player out of his blankets long enough to shove into his pocket. They weren't generally allowed, but he focused better with music, and his study hall teacher never minded, so long as it wasn't so loud they could hear it through the earbuds. Glancing around his bedroom, he gave a deep sigh and headed back down to the shop, stopping to lock up the back and grab his own keys before locking the front as well.

The old convertible was replaced in the winter time with a warm, sturdy old coupe, and Nero dashed down the icy steps to skid into the front seat, melting in the warmth as he shut the door. He did _not_ miss the drafts that plagued his room and Dante's; the little living room under the stairs was the only place in the house that was totally warm.

"Alright. Pack, keys, clean underwear?"

"Dad!"

"Hey, it's useful if you ever end up in a position where you need it."

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, ready to go?"

"Duh, old man."

* * *

Three hours later, Nero was wishing he'd just played hooky instead. Recess was canceled due to the winds shearing across the playground, and every class was trying to make do by bringing all the kids together in the large common room, like they did in the mornings. The teachers had mostly all gone to the library while everyone talked; Nero pretended not to notice, and simply did his homework. He did have a few friends here, but two of them were out with the flu, and the third lived out of town, so he hadn't been able to come in for school. He missed Rory, Ben, and Gai, but never more so than now. The school bully, Jimmy Newland, was a beast on the best of days; cooped up in a stinking great room full of loud, obnoxious kids made him an unholy terror. Jimmy was a middle schooler held back because of his abysmal grades, and because Nero had actually skipped a grade ahead, he was oftentimes the main target.

To date, though, he'd never been caught unaware by the huge hulking moron and his fearsome foursome of henchmen...but that was because Rory and Gai usually played look out, and Ben would lead them off elsewhere. Because Nero worked to the music in his ears, and so never saw the heavy hand that slammed his forehead into the table, knocking him senseless long enough to be scooped up and carried away. As he weakly fought back, another hand came up and he saw stars, going completely limp as darkness swooped in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dad**

The blow to Dante's heart came in the middle of spirited sparring session with Trish. Their trademark leathers were discarded for more comfortable sweats and tees, and the pair ranged back and forth across the shop, with Lady acting as referee as both feet and fists flew. He'd always been a skilled martial artist, but Trish's inclusion into both his and Nero's lives over the last few years had given him both a partner in business and sparring, and in some ways, he was actually closer to Trish than Lady. Part of that, he suspected, was that she sounded, acted, and looked just like his mother...or, if he'd had a sister, she'd be it. Lady was a good friend, if more than a little demanding, but...Trish was the one person to understand.

He had had the upper hand at the time, a grin flashing under shaggy, sweat-darkened silver hair, and had brought his leg up in a manuveur he'd created...when in the space between one heartbeat and the next, a crushing weight dropped _him_ like a stone. Dante fell to his knees, clutching at his chest in agony as he tried to fight past the overwhelming fear and pain dazzling his senses. _ The fuck?!_

Dimly, above his head, he could hear Trish murmuring, and Lady's unnatural silence was unnerving, almost frightening..._when the fuck is all this coming from?! I'm too young to have a freakin' heart attack..._It was then, as he ran through every possible reason for this, that he came across the right answer. It was all coming from outside of himself, from..._Nero. Oh, god._

He shunted the pain away, best as he could, and managed to get back to his feet, though he swayed so badly that Trish and Lady both had to support him while the stars cleared from his vision. It felt like an eternity had passed...until Trish forced his chin up so that she could meet his eyes.

"Dante, what the _ hell _ is going on? You just collapsed, and got right back up again." The calm in her voice was cracking now, worry and fear warring in her expression, and he felt his lips open to hiss out one word, one name.

_"...Nero..."_ He felt her hands fall away, and Lady piped up, breaking the stunned silence.

"What? Trish, what'd he say?" Dante shook the last of the eerie numbness from his brain and turned towards the stairs, taking them two at a time, stopping only to change into something a little sturdier, and buckle on both guns and Rebellion. He swept back down past Lady as Trish matched him at the door. Glancing back, he tossed the keys at her.

"You're in charge till we get back. We're going after Nero. " He didn't stay long enough to hear her response; he was already in the air, the demoness right beside him.

"_ The school officials might know something." _ Her calm, cool voice always stabilized him, and that was never truer than now, black flames and white-gold fluttering over their wings, and he gave her a short nod.

"_ They'd better."_

* * *

Nero woke with a jolt, only to go limp again as his instincts took over, thinking past the pain in his head and arm. Wherever he was, it wasn't at school, and certainly not at the shop..._and the heavy breathing behind him was not his father._ Carefully, so slowly that he hardly moved at all, Nero turned on the hard mattress he'd been thrown on to find a large, very hairy man, naked from the waist up, doing something with his back turned to the boy.

From the way he was moving, _ oh god, he's moaning_ , Nero could guess what was to come next, and his blood ran cold, eyes widening with sudden terror as he fought the sudden urge to run, run and never, ever fucking look back. _ Oh god, no...Dad, Dad, Daddy, where are you?! _ His gaze turned swiftly to the room he was trapped in, and his heart sank at the bars and locks on the windows. A grimy haze filtered through the bubbled, thick glass, barely lighting the room, and giving him no idea as to the time outside.

And the door was no better, locked in three places and narrow. It looked heavy, too. There wasn't much else in the room; the mattress sat on an old box spring, and the only other light aside from the window was a small, bare bulb on a string, dangling over the doorway. There was no place for even a scrawny little boy to hide, and nothing he could use to knock the bastard out with.

He was trapped; trapped with a man with only one thing on his mind, in a place where there was no one who could hear him scream. As the man turned, though, Nero's fists balled, and his pride and spirit rose in furious defiance, his instincts leading him to slip off the bed and pack up to the wall. Damned if he was gonna go down without a fight. Maybe if he fought back...if he kept himself alive...maybe he'd see his father again before a pedophile bludgeoned him to death. He scrubbed away a few tears with one fist, and raised hot, angry blue eyes to the grinning fucker on the bed.

"Bring it, you fat fuck."

* * *

Dante let Trish handle the school officials; he was too angry, and he didn't need a battery charge on top of what was already happening. The police had been notified not even an hour ago, and were currently searching the whole of the slums and the warehouse district, following the directions from the demon-hunter. _ At least the DA knows me well enough to listen. _Meanwhile, a girl in Nero's class had fingered four older boys who'd been bullying him for several years as having knocked her classmate unconscious and carrying him away.

His things had been left behind, scattered under the table, even his hoodie, and Dante held them all now, backpack dangling from one elbow as he recrossed his arms. One of the boys had been found, and it had taken all of his self-control not to just go in there and terrorize the little shit...he took a slow, deep breath, closing his eyes and listening for a moment, satisfied that the detectives were doing his job better than he would have.

"I don't care _how_ cold it was outside, you should have been out here! Supervising!" Came Trish's snarl, her own calm shattered by the cavilier attitudes of the staff, and Dante accompanied that with a long, low growl. _Damn straight they should have!_

"W-We are a vigilant school! How dare you accuse us of not doing our jobs!"

"I'm not accusing, I'm _telling! _ He was carried off who knows where, and he _is_ in danger!"

"Because his _father _ says so? I think not!" Dante snarled and strode forward, pinning the man to the wall. His voice was silky smooth, fawning even...until you heard the deadly steel underneath.

"I know this because unlike humans, my son and I are descended from the demon Sparda, who saved your great-great grandpappy's sorry ass a millenia ago. Now, Sparda fell in love with a human woman say...oh...twenty-eight years ago, and nine months later, my brother and I were born. Now, as twins, and as half-bloods, we had this weird bond thing that connected us to each other...and to our father. And ten years ago, I discovered that my brat and I had the same sort of bond. Useful, no?

"So, numbnuts, when I fucking _tell_ you to goddamn do something because I know something's fucking wrong with my kid, you will _goddamn do it_ . Is that understood, dumbass?" A mute nod, the scent of fresh urine and bugged eyes were his only answer, and he dropped the man in disgust to stalk back to Trish, accepting the brief pat on the shoulder, squeezing hers in return.

"We'll find him." Came her soft voice, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, fighting the urge to just...break down.

"I hope you're right, Trish. I hope you're right."


	8. Chapter 8

**Dad**

-(edited for site regulations. Please see the first three paragraphs on , under Ash_Gray_Kitsune's Dad.)-

The only comfort was that it was short; not ten minutes later, the demon was zipping himself up and Nero had curled into a little ball of misery and pain, shaking a little. His pants...were somewhere, and his arm ached horribly, and his ass...he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as pain seared through his body. _Daddy...Daddy, where are you?_ He called, with all his heart, tears dampening the moldy, dirty beneath him. He couldn't do this, he couldn't survive this...if they brought another one in, he'd die choking on his own vomit...

But the minutes passed, and after roughly a half hour, he raised his head, staring at the open doorway. Something...something was wrong, but he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing; the walls were far too insulated. Slowly, agonizingly, he tried to twist his arms back; one was dislocated, leaving him breathless and seeing white again while he maneuvered the shirt back down. At last, he could tuck that arm close and he rolled upright...nearly falling over as more pain made him shake.

Gradually, carefully, he stood, thin legs shaking like leaves in the wind, and there, in the corner, were his jeans and his ripped up, bloody underwear. Feeling his gorge rise again, he tucked those in his pocket, and pulled his jeans on with his left hand, trying to keep the fabric as far away from the cuts on his back and butt as much as he could. His shoes hadn't been in the room when he'd woken up, so he assumed they were probably lost in transit. Besides, his feet were tough; it was just the rest of him that had taken a beating.

Slowly, painfully, he walked to the door, and peeking out, he wasn't surprised to see the remnants of an old hotel, room after room after room with closed doors and a shadowy, barely lit hallway. There was a staircase at one end that led down, and that was where Nero limped to, taking his time to stop and listen, keeping to the shadows as much as he could. Too often, he'd get dizzy and lean into the wall, shaking with reaction and a fever that was slowly burning it's way across his face and neck, blue eyes glazing over.

_ I gotta get outta here...Gotta get to Dad...gotta survive. C'mon, Nero; you're stronger than this. You can make it. _ His thoughts became a sort of prayer wheel, grinding slowly through the fatigue enough to break away the despair, the terror...the pain, and they helped him descend the stair, where a lone, open window blew in chilly, biting winter air, and showed him that he was up five stories still, in the old part of the city. The part his father refused to move them to, saying only that it was too dangerous for even him. He stared for longer than he should have, and startled when there was a sudden crash below, and the sounds of several demons arguing. The noise began to move towards his perch, and fear gave his feet wings, sending him flying back down the hallway to the second stair, the one that led up.

_DAD!_

* * *

Dante's head snapped up again as he pulled himself fully up to the roof of one of the older buildings, his gray-blue eyes growing angry as the pulse of fear and adrenaline matched that of his son's, much stronger now than it had been before. Wherever Nero was, he was heavily shielded, but they were getting close; from across the street, Trish nodded, her lips narrow and her gun reloaded. Good; she felt it too. He turned back to his own side of the bond, and followed it once more, lip biting as he tried to pinpoint that fluxing thread...and lost it again. He throttled down the rage, breathing heavily; he couldn't afford to let the anger wash away Nero's own emotions, not when he was tracking the boy.

There...it was faint, and terribly, terribly weak, but it was there. The only consolation he had was that at least Nero hadn't been completely alone the whole time...Dante had felt everything he had, and it no longer mattered if the beings responsible were human or demon. Dante was going to destroy them, down to the very ground, and there would be no stopping his wrath. The _ only _ reason that he hadn't utterly lost his shit when the first bastard had laid a hand on his son was because if he did, he risked killing his boy too. And that much, he couldn't do. He'd sooner die.

He took flight, normally this time, by leaping off the building and falling towards the next, his coat flaring up. Trish landed before he did, and she stepped back as his feet touched the ground.

"He's close." He muttered, glancing around again before getting his bearings. "Feels like a big place..."

"Then he is close; we're drawing near the old hotels, the transient ones. One has to be the child-brothel the boy mentioned; there's just no room for a place that vile anywhere else." She replied, eyes black with her own cool anger. "I suggest, heart-brother, that we set our sights on that one, there; it seems to be the best repaired, if such a thing exists here." The petname was one she rarely used, and a ghost of a smile answered it. But she was right; the old transient building to their right was fenced, and what windows were broken were patched with plywood. It was the likeliest one, and if he focused a little more, he thought that the thin tendril of pain stemming from Nero was emanating from it.

It was hard to tell, but he chose to believe it, for Nero's sake. So, he flipped out both guns, and with a cool indifference to anyone else, leapt from the rooftop, landing square in the center of the road in front of the building. As if on a signal, a crew of marionettes leapt up, their strings dangling, and a vicious grin curved around his face, gray eyes flashing as he brought the guns up.

"This is _my_ kinda party."

* * *

Nero ran, heedless of the broken glass and rocks that littered the dingy carpet, scared utterly witless by the monsters that chased him now up each flight. He'd gone up three more floors, now, and they were getting closer, though they'd slowed down. To laugh at him. He felt a sick revulsion start in the pit of his stomach, and risked a glance back as he plowed through the trash littering the next stair. They were fucking _waiting _ for him to fall down; all four of his abusers, and another, taller demon with cold, cold eyes. He would have frozen there, if there hadn't been a flare of brilliant blue light filling the stairwell, and his right arm seared with a new pain, one that sent him sprinting back up to the rooftop.

Wracked with pain, stumbling on the metal grating, Nero fell through the door, and nearly fainted at the fresh, crisp cold air swirling around him. He slid and crashed onto the ice-slicked asphalt roof, his back and bottom screaming anew as the cuts were pulled open, and he rolled over, vomiting up what little was left in his stomach. Behind him, the demons swaggered onto the roof, laughing, joking about what they were going to do with him. He could only catch a word or two, but it was enough, more than enough, to make him get up once more, edging slowly back to the very lip of the roof. If he had to make a choice...he'd choose going over the side rather than let them destroy him like that again.

The lean one seemed to understand what he was doing...and before he could blink, he was up in the air and turning blue, long fingers latched around his throat.

"Well now...our little pet seems to think suicide is a fair option." Even his voice was cold, and Nero felt a spike of fear overwhelm everything...except a tiny thread of triumph. He couldn't hear much over the roaring in his ears and the wind, but up there, somewhere in the darkness, a pair of wings beat once...then faded away. "So, kitten, have you claws still?" His other hand pulled Nero's sleeve up, and a soft blue glow lit the area, falling from a crack in his skin...no...from the blue interior of his arm, covered mostly now with hard brown scales.

"Jakyr, he's growing faster than you thought!"

"You promised that he'd remain a child longer!"

"Hush, you imbeciles. He's still a babe yet; you can sate your desires without fear. He cannot use the arm, nor does he know how to. Now...who wants him?"

"_** I do."**_ Nero stretched to turn, but he couldn't see who owned that deep, angry voice...and he didn't know if he wanted to. Jakyr growled, softly, and tossed Nero into a pile of trash...and Nero opened his eyes long enough to see the ice-cold demon be turned to a fine red mist. His four compatriots followed suit, and what stood in their place made each of them seem far less dangerous. He was tall, insanely tall, with enormous black and red wings, and eyes the color of hellfire...and the flames that covered his body promptly disappeared, leaving a worn, frantic Dante in their place. Nero barely had time to understand the change before his father was embracing him, wrapping him in that familiar red coat.

"Buddy, buddy, I'm here, it's me, it's your dad..." Came the harsh whisper, and Nero melted as both warmth and the demon-hunter's arms cradled him tight. Finally, his eyes heavy, he allowed himself to sleep...and distantly, heard the soft sounds of wingbeats once more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Dad**

_Oh god, no...DAD!_

Nero woke with a start, tears coursing down his cheeks as he sat up, his teeshirt and pj's soaked in sweat. Another nightmare...another sleepless night. He should have known that the therapy would only work for so long...the teenager sighed, scrubbing away the tears as he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. The glow from his right arm, his 'Devil Bringer', as Dante had dubbed it, fell cool and soft over that side of his room, and it soothed him, odd though that might sound. He'd often joked, after the...event four years ago that he was his own nightlight; certainly, the blue light that emanated from his body was far more comforting than any plug-in Dante could have bought him. The arm was nearly all scaled now, with his palm and the top portion of his forearm glowing a brilliant sky blue, day in, day out.

He even had claws now, sharp and strong, and useful for doing a million and one things that his normal fingernails couldn't have done. Granted, it really didn't help all that much, because he was a lefty, but he was comfortable with the arm now. Moreso, in fact, than he had been in years. Before, the scales scared him, made him feel dirty...now, it was a part of his heritage, and he was proud of it. It was a tool, and a weapon all of its own; when he cast his mind to it, he could summon a giant, ghostly arm that felled any opponent. It was awesome for when he wrestled with his dad.

Speaking of the devil himself...a light knock sounded on his door, and he waved a little as he drank the cool water, knowing his father would read the flash of light from under the door.

"Bad night, bud?" Came that familiar voice, a little hoarser than usual. The demon-hunter looked like he hadn't even gone to bed yet; knowing how precarious their finances were at the moment, he couldn't blame the older man. He raised the glass in a mocking salute, and gestured for his dad to sit down on the bed next to him.

"Just another nightmare. You look like we're worse off than we thought." He sighed and obliged Nero, sinking into the bed, the fabric of his shirt pulling just a hair tight as he rubbed his face.

"I'd love to say 'no', but then I'd be lying. And I did promise never to lie to you. We're...I'm gonna have to go on a mission, kiddo. We don't have enough coming in to keep up with the bills, and with Morrison having moved on, and Lady god knows where..."

"And Trish can't do all the things you can."

"Bingo. Now, I've got to ask you this; do you want me to go back out? I know how rough the nights can be around here." _ And I know how much you don't want me to leave. _ Nero could read that far too easily between the lines...and he sighed, knowing it was true. He had been keeping his father from going out on the higher paying jobs, and while Dante had never once shown even a hint that he begrudged his son, the younger half-blood knew that his reluctance to be left alone was hurting their finances. He took a long, deep breath, calming himself, cupping the glass in his devil hand...and looked up at his father now, blue eyes solemn.

"I think you're going to have to. And...I want to go with you. On the smaller jobs." Dante raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't protest. Not that Nero expected him to; after he'd been kidnapped, the older man had taken Nero's fighting a hundred times more seriously, and once he was healed enough, he was drilled, daily, with sword, gun, and anything else Dante could rustle up. By the time Nero had turned twelve, Dante had set up a similar situation, and left Nero to improvise with whatever he found on hand as the punks gathered around. He'd won out in the end, wielding a long steel broom handle as a stave and a makeshift sling from one of his sleeves...and his Devil Bringer.

After that, Dante had declared him to be 'pretty damn kickass', and he'd taken Nero to the blacksmith and gunsmith he himself used, and for a weekend, Nero got to design the sword and gun of his dreams, something he'd been longing to do since his dad had started him on one of his own swords back when he was a kid. Now, he was simply waiting for the pair to come in...and he figured that it was nearly time.

"...I think I can agree to that, under two conditions." He replied, gray eyes glinting a little with mischief, and Nero had to grin a little.

"Fire away."

"One, when I tell you to run, you run. No questions, no bitching. I will _ only_ do so when it's something that I can barely handle, and since your Devil Bringer tends to react badly to my Trigger, I'd rather save that for when I direly need it. Two, you need to keep your grades at a decent level. I'm not gonna ask for straight A's; but if you can keep them C and above, then you can keep coming with me. If they dip, we'll both stay home. Deal?" Nero gave that the serious thought it was due, and after a moment, nodded. It was hardly a bad arrangement, and truthfully, Nero was glad for it. He had a strongly developed sense of self-preservation, even if he was likely to get himself into trouble with his pride, and after the kidnapping...well, it was even stronger now.

"I can do that. Can I ask for a promise from you?" He looked far younger than his years now, and the fear that had plagued him for so long shivered in his eyes. Dante nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Of course you can. Shoot, kid."

"Promise me that if you tell me to run away...you'll do your best to come back." The waterworks started up again, and he wasn't surprised when Dante pulled him close in a tight hug and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Absolutely, Nero. Hell couldn't stop me from getting back to you the first time; nothing else will either." He whispered fiercely, one hand stroking through Nero's hair gently as he embraced his son. At that, Nero let himself crack a little, and clung to his father, crying softly. Inwardly, he felt a little ashamed...but he felt a lot safer, knowing that he could drop all the barriers around his dad. And knowing that Dante had experienced what he had, through the bond they shared, eased his conscience a little more; the kinship they shared was something he didn't know if he'd ever really get used to...but that was okay. No matter what...he'd always have his dad by his side.

"Thanks, old man..." He said weakly, grinning a little as he pushed away to take another gulp of water. Dante huffed out a laugh, and rubbed Nero's shoulders, eliciting a soft sigh of relief from the young man.

"As if I could just leave you there, brat. Tell you what; I've got a surprise for you downstairs. They just came in today." Nero looked up at him curiously, and Dante stood, laughing still. "C'mon. It'll cheer you up to no end, I promise." Shrugging, the teen followed his father out into the hallway, and down the rickety old stairs, his eyes widening a little as he took in the two cases sitting neatly on the enormous old desk. Half of it was for his father, half for his own homework, but the black carbon cases were almost too big for the monstrosity.

"No way..." He made his way over to the desk, and opening the smaller case, couldn't stop the gasp as he lifted the Blue Rose out of the black velvet. She was a beautiful over and under barreled pistol, weighted and shaped for a southpaw. Setting her back, he did the same to the sword's case...and drew out the Red Queen, eyes wide with shock. They were...perfect. Perfect to his designs, to his weight, perfect for when he grew...

"Way. Happy early birthday, kiddo."


	10. Chapter 10

**Dad**

Nero sat across from his father, smirking a little, and lounged in the booth seat, mimicking a pose Dante himself would have chosen when he was his brat's age. He was a handsome devil, and he knew it, flashing grins at the girls who'd come to watch him and ruffling his already messy silver hair. Clad in a long blue leather trench over a red hoodie, and of course, a pair of tight leather pants, he cut a dashing figure in the pizzeria's humble interior, and earned himself a simple raised eyebrow from the older demon-hunter across the table.

"And to think I taught you humility..." The teenager snickered, his glowing devil hand waving a little for his appreciative audience.

"Some lessons just don't stick, old man." He drawled, examining the claws in his hand before dragging them lightly down his face and across his lips, eliciting more than a few sighs of appreciation. Dante simply rolled his eyes and sat back, draping both arms over the upper ledge where both Trish and Lady were watching, both of them amused.

"See what I have to deal with? No respect from kids these days, I tell ya..."

"Oh, let him flirt, Daddy-O; it's not everyday you turn sixteen." Lady replied, her eyes soft as she watched her adopted nephew wow his crowd. For his birthday, Nero had asked that his family gather at Zatolli's...and that he and his father could have an eating contest. Tensions had been building between them for a little while now, ever since Dante took Nero out on the first of his missions, and Nero felt that a day of pizza would sweeten his father's temper far more than anything else. And Dante had to admit, he was right, because from the moment he'd offered that as a solution, the older demon-hunter had been looking forward to it.

Part of the tension was his fault, anyway; he hadn't expected Nero to do so well...well enough that he could have put his old man out of business. And that was something that Dante hadn't realized he didn't want to happen. _ I've been doing this for so long...I'm just jealous. Jealous of a kid I trained, I fought with, and I raised to do the job. How stupid is that? And he knows it. Ah, hell, he's a smart cookie; he probably guessed it from the moment I realized he had the potential to be better than me. And instead of proving me right...he yanked the rug out from under me and proved me wrong. I _ owe_ him that much_. He smiled a little, and nodded to her, grinning a little when Trish gave him The Look.

It generally said _ watch your mouth, or my foot breaks your teeth again_ , and Dante just gave her a salute. As if he'd make a scene at his own kid's birthday party...and especially when said kid was paying for the pizza! Speaking of which, Papa Tonno was wheeling the birthday pie out, and Nero's friends and admirers backed away long enough for the large man to lever the pizza onto the table with a loud _thud_ . It was as round as the table itself, and as Papa sliced and diced it up into those familiar triangles, Nero leaned forward, eyes glinting.

"Alright, old man, here's the deal; whichever one of us can eat the most pizza in ten minutes WITHOUT puking gets bragging rights till I turn eighteen. Deal?" Dante just smirked and met him, elbows resting on the table as his own eyes narrowed.

"Deal." Trish and Lady both groaned, and brought out the trash cans they'd been hiding, setting one next to Nero's seat, and one next to Dante's. Rather than letting the boys single out a girl to judge, Trish remained standing, one hand holding a small stopwatch, the other a flag, and Lady opened a window, her smallest pistol pointed up in the air. It wasn't loaded...or so Dante hoped, and as both demon-hunters readied themselves, she fired.

Dante's first slice was halfway down his throat before he bit off, and Nero wasn't far behind, both of them scarfing like they'd been starving for months. One was followed by two, then three, then seven as Dante used both his ability to inhale anything and a little tactful deep-throating to plow through his half. Nero seemed to be struggling a bit, and his father had to smirk; rather than just letting it slide down his throat, he was chewing as quickly as he could and swallowing, and he was only on his fifth.

By Dante's tenth slice, though, he was feeling more than a little ill, and he was eating far slower, supporting himself on the table. Nero wasn't much better, and the shade of green he was turning wasn't helping his father out in the least. But it was Lady's sudden idea to start seeing how much grease was actually on the pie that sent the both to the trash cans, puking up everything down to their toenails at the sight of orange grease dripping from the napkin.

"Well, since neither of you made it to ten minutes...I declare it to be a draw." Came Trish's voice, and Dante gave her a weak grin as he wiped his mouth off. Nero was still green, and he just kept a clean napkin over his face, breathing very lightly. He smirked, though, as the girls all clustered around him, and the boys gave him claps on the back, and gave his father a little wave.

"So, we draw again." Dante just shrugged, and setting his trash can aside, worked his way out of the booth and offered the kid his hand up.

"No so surprising, kiddo. You're my equal; now more than ever. And when you're not so green, I'll introduce you to your other birthday present." Nero gave him a worried look for a moment as he took Dante's hand and levered himself out of the booth. "Chill, even your friends will think I'm the coolest dad around." From the snickers behind him, he figured they thought he was lying, but he motioned out the door of the restaurant, where Lady had disappeared to. As Nero made his way up to the door, he was shocked to see a gorgeous motorcycle round the corner, slimmer and sleeker than Lady's, but still a beefy bike. He gaped at the deep blue paint job, the shimmering chrome, and turned back long enough to hug his dad, then dash down to the bike, followed by his friends.

Trish came up behind Dante then, and glancing up, she hid a smile. The demon-hunter was grinning a mile a minute, and the look of pride and joy on his face was simply...wonderful.

"You're proud of him..."

"Of course I am, Trish. He's my kid."


End file.
